


you're the best part

by orphan_account



Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Aged-Up Peter Parker, And Much More - Freeform, Angst with a Happy Ending, Brief Smut, Canon-Typical Violence, Edgy Peter Parker, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Identity Reveal, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Kinda Dark!Peter Parker, Non-Explicit Sex, Peter Parker is a Mess, Smut, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Violence, and he finally gets his hug, but he's not like off the wazoo, injuries, rated explicit just in case but its mature everywhere else
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:08:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26910409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: After Peter Parker nearly loses his life in a battle, he realizes he would've missed out on the most important thing in his life; you. He tries to swallow it down again with bad coping methods, but he finally breaks.—A Peter Parker x Reader Insert.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Reader
Comments: 4
Kudos: 100





	you're the best part

**Author's Note:**

> warning ! there is violence, mentions of things like strip clubs, very vague implied abuse, and non-explicit smut.
> 
> song title is ["best part" by h.e.r & daniel ceasar](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vBy7FaapGRo)

It had been too much.

Peter had almost lost his life. He was near the brink of death, beaten and torn, black and blue along his calloused skin. Blue and red lights disappeared from the distance as he laid on the top of a roof, his suit torn in several spots. The night sky was above him, rotating and turning, the moon’s brightness against the polluted sky staring down at him knowingly.

Death was weird. He had blipped before, but it wasn’t like this. Peter didn’t feel his conscious slowly turn into ash and fade off before waking back up near Dr. Strange. No, he felt an overwhelming numbness, lights had fogged his vision and his mind trailed to one thought— _you._

Biting his bleeding lip, he groaned into the mask, white eyes turning into thin slits as he adjusted his body to sit up. He could hear your voice now— _where’d you get that black eye, Peter? Was it Flash? I hate seeing you hurt. Can I get you some ibuprofen? ...Ice cream? No, don’t say anything. That smile on your face gives it away._

His hand met the side of his face, avoiding the pain underneath his skin, imagining you caressing his cheek. A faint memory of sitting in a party bathroom, him on the toilet and you kneeled beside him, dabbing his busted nose with a wet rag. _Peter, you didn’t need to do that for me. I can take care of myself._

 _I want to take care of you,_ he had said. 

_But punching that guy—_

_I’d punch a million guys for you._

_Even if it breaks your nose?_

_I’d let it break a million times._

Even though what he said was incredibly cheesy and very much revealing of his true feelings for you, you had only given a low chuckle, pressing into his damaged nose a little too harshly and causing him to wince in pain. _Rude._ You laughed and rubbed your thumb below his eye, _You’re crazy, Peter Parker._

It was weird how when you’re nearing death, your thoughts revolve around your strongest moments. You gave Peter strength. He knew that. Knowing that he almost lost the battle with life and he never got to have you drove him into a dark corner of his head. How could he have let that happen without holding you once? Making you laugh one more time, kissing your glossed lips, feeling you—

A grunt sounded from his covered mouth as he felt his lower suit grow uncomfortable. Peter needed to get up. At this time, he would usually head back home and recover, but he didn’t go in that direction. He didn’t go near Queens. Peter was approaching the depths of New York, red lights surrounding him as he headed into a district he wouldn’t ever been found in, identity hidden with a mask.

Passing people gawked at him, wondering why Spider-man was limping through the red light district. He stopped in front of a stripclub and headed inside. A bouncer ogled him, curiously asking him, “What are you doing here?”

He paid it no mind. God, he didn’t care. He almost died.

Taking a seat on a couch, he knew there were plenty of people staring at him. He always garnered attention this way. Whether or not it was in a rated R building or chilling in the subway train speaking to a cosplayer, Spider-man was always getting eyes. So many eyes. Faces and faces later, there was only one he’d truly want to look at him; yours.

No one else’s eyes compared. No face shape, no voice, no hair or laugh, nothing could compare to yours. And yet he sat in that stripclub and watched all the pretty women twist around poles and border men’s laps. Plenty had approached him, already liking the taste of bragging about dancing for Spider-man on their molly-flavored tongues. Though, he denied each one.

Peter wasn’t here to touch a girl’s hips as she sat on his lap. He was here to make his fervor for you into something else. He wanted a different excuse. He hoped that these other women would distract his mind from you, and he would no longer feel antsy, clingy, eager to visit you.

 _Crazy,_ he repeated your word in his head. He was crazy for doing this. God, he could not imagine Happy’s calls to him. _Why did they see the goddamn Spider-man in a stripclub, Peter? You know that’s not why you were given that suit. Nick Fury is going to have your head. Don’t use it for personal situations, Jesus this is worse than your pay-per-view situation in Berlin,_ Happy would most likely say to him.

It wasn’t helping. Each girl he imagined you, he imagined their bodies shifting into yours, and he couldn’t take it anymore. With a grunt, he got up and was quick to exit, people calling after him with wide eyes.

The famous Spider-man was walking down the street before his enhanced senses began to whir around him. Peter’s sore head immediately whipped down the alleyway next to him and noticed a rather buff, scarred man shoving a rather young looking boy. That boy could not be over the age of sixteen, Peter thought, _what the hell is he doing here?_ No, he didn’t need to ask that. The world was cruel.

Instead of thinking of a grand entrance, or locating the nearest possible entryways to escape and jump to, he only found himself shadowing the buff man as he staggered towards the quarrel. The boy was crying, trying to yank his bruised arm away from the offender who was yelling about drug rates. He could only hear the words _stop_ and _you’re hurting me._ “I don’t care,” the assaulter would reply.

The boy’s eyes met Peter’s, and the man whipped around to only meet Spider-man’s red and black fist colliding with his jaw. Peter was sure to put all of his inhuman strength into this. The man thudded against the wall, wheezing as the side of his head gashed open.

“W— Spider-man… that’s…” he began to breathe, his chest puffing. “Why?”

Refusing to answer, Peter found himself towering over the guy. His deep brows furrowed as he got up to swing at him, but Peter leaned his body back before grabbing the man’s elbow and twisting it behind his back, slamming his foot into his lower spine and sending him to the other side of the alleyway.

The man coughed and sputtered, “Please, okay, I’m sorry— I’m sorry—” He turned and began to shuffle back against the other brick wall, pants damp with the alleyway’s leftover rain. Peter saw his shadow cover the man, eyes glistening as he held his arm. “It hurts, I’m sorry, stop—”

Peter stopped him from reaching the wall to sit up. His foot pinned the man down. He leaned down, grabbing the man’s shirt and falling onto his knees to pull the other up so that his white eyes could squint at him.

_“I don’t care.”_

Slamming his fists to the guy’s head until he blacked out, he found his eyesight growing red; not with blood but with pure unbridled spite. He didn’t want to admit he hated the world, but he did. He found the world disappointing him every day. It didn’t matter what he said or did, it didn’t matter how many bad guys he stopped, the word _murderer_ and _not good enough_ kept being thrown in his face. Spider-man wasn’t Iron-man. The world didn’t believe him to be Peter Parker, but they still think he killed. It didn’t matter how many times Spider-man had died or almost died for them— it was not enough.

Peter shouted in agony as he finished the last punch and raised himself from his knees. The boy was inching away from him before running down the road. Frankly, Peter didn’t even bother to find out what the kid thought.

Gripping his bruised fists together, Peter thought releasing his emotion on an asshole would work.

It didn’t.

Even as he walked on the tops of buildings back towards Queens, you were on his mind.

Bloody and bruised, beaten, torn, shaking with adrenaline, you were the first thought. Always.

Finding your apartment wasn’t hard. You didn’t have a crazy mansion and a whole industry beneath your thumb, or lived in a building filled with other superheroines, and he liked that about you. He liked how you stressed about college and your legitimate internship, how your closets were neat with practical day-to-day clothing instead of suits or armor. Your computer wasn’t intense with database knowledge that held secrets of intergalactic governments or criminal overlords working a system, it just had simple funny images online that made you laugh and your favorite games.

Spider-man could be found crouching in a specific window of a specific building, slowly opening it up with his sticked gloves, and carefully making his way inside. Not a single sound.

He had been here many times before. With friends, alone, didn’t matter, you two were so close he was around nearly every day. Peter liked you a lot. He liked how your house was filled with succulents and flourishing plants, you would gush about each one, some sitting on window sills or countertops. Peter remembered commenting how he rescued a dying one and he gave up once it shriveled, and you looked at him smiling before saying, _you just need to give damaged things patience. Next time you should come to me with it._

He would do just that.

Your place smelled like cinnamon and autumn leaves. You liked to match your place with the season. Peter had managed to find your bedroom window to climb in, because he was staring at your bed nearly ominously. You shuffled, stirring awake after hearing the curtains flutter and your floorboards creak. You sat up, groaning, dawning a simple t-shirt that nearly outlined your chest perfectly.

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” you whispered in surprise. With a beaten silhouette of Spider-man staring down at you, he didn’t blame you for being shocked. “Spider-man? Hello?”

He took a step or two further before his hand ghosted over his mask. Peter stared at his shaking hand before finally clutching onto the thing that hid his identity and pulling it off. He blinked his now human eyes at your form, moonlight showcasing your right side, and he watched your expression turn from one to curiosity to absolute puzzlement.

“Is… Peter, is that you?” Peter found his heart racing. “You’re Spider-man?” You asked.

Peter stumbled towards your bedside and went until his knees hit the edge and he was crawling towards you. Though, instead of backing away in fear at his crawling form, you stayed your ground. God, he liked you so much.

“Are… are you okay? Peter?”

Now completely over your blanketed form, he moved so he could take that said blanket off of you. Though, you didn’t complain. You gave a small shiver at the sudden cold embracing your body, but Peter placed his hands on your sides and began to rub them up and down to warm you up. His entire body was racing with energy as he straddled your legs.

“I didn’t know you were Spider-man. I— I don’t even know what you’re doing. What are you doing here? Why are you in my bed? Is that blood? Holy shit...” Your hand moved up to gently wipe away the dried blood on the side of his face. Peter was quick to move his hand up and hover over yours, leaning against it and placing a kiss against your palm.

Peter, slow, spoke, “I had a bad night, Y/N.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

You weren’t even questioning or berating him. You weren’t doing anything to hurt him. He felt so safe and secure with you, he knew giving you this secret side of him— Spider-man— he would be cradled in warmth.

“I was on the brink of death. I was going to die.” Recalling the hands on his neck, twisting, turning, all the oxygen slipping from his lips, he found he didn’t want to waste it. 

“Oh, Peter—”

He shook his head. “The only thing I thought of before dying was you. My proudest moment was meeting you, but my biggest regret was not doing anything more with you, Y/N.” Peter squeezed your hand slightly. “I was going to die realizing that I didn’t take the initiative.”

Your eyebrows curled together. “What?”

Peter moved to hold your face, his stare meeting yours. You looked so beautiful in the moonlight. He pressed himself closer to your body, your pelvis meeting his, and he pulled your face up and gave you a slow kiss. Your knees buried against his sore ribs, and he gave a hiss of pain, and you immediately apologized under your breath. Peter only whined at the fact your lips were so far from his. He captured you once more in a long intimate touch, his hands trailing up and down your sides, your shirt being pulled up.

“Peter,” you whispered, separating from him.

Irritated that you kept leaving him, he grunted, placing his hand underneath your chin and pulling you back for another kiss. Though, you didn’t seem happy, turning your head to the side, even when he used a bit of force to keep your head still. “Peter, stop.”

He didn’t want to hurt you. He immediately released your head, placing his hand beside you and sitting up slightly. “What?”

“What… what are we doing?”

Your voice was so innocent. Unadulterated innocence, you were so pure, so good, he moved and buried his nose into your neck and took in your scent, your warmth. “What we should’ve been doing a long time ago. I’m sorry I didn’t do this sooner.”

“Peter— ah—” His lips met your neck and gently sucked on the spot that made your breath hitch. Peter’s teeth grazed over it, and he knew his cracked, damaged lips was the reason your body quaked so subtly. “Peter, you’re hurt.”

“Not anymore,” he breathed against you.

You shook your head, cupping his cheek to pull his face up and make eye contact with him. Peter wasn’t exactly happy with this, but the way you looked at him with that concerned, pitiful expression made him feel just as infuriated as before. Peter pulled from your hand, sitting up on his knees and glaring down at you.

“What? Don’t tell me you don’t want this either!” He snapped, “Do you not like me? Is that it? What’s wrong with me?”

Your eyes turned owlish as you flung yourself upwards, legs pulling back to your torso only slightly. “No, no Peter, I like you. I like you a lot. This is everything I’ve wanted.”

Peter frowned in disbelief. “Then why won’t you let me— why are you acting like you don’t?”

“Because you’re hurting.”

“No I’m not!” Peter snapped. “Everyone says that— I’m hurting, I’m damaged, I’m not good enough, I need to be more like Mr. Stark— I’m not! I’m fine, I’m literally saving this stupid city every day, I just nearly died but I’m still here! I lived! And I’m trying to spend the rest of my lifetime with the girl I really like who is just acting like them!”

Your eyebrows furrowed. “Like who?”

“Like everyone else!”

With that, he maneuvered off of your bed and paced in your bedroom.

“Peter, I just want you to be okay. You know that.”

Peter looked at you, before being unable to stand the sight of you giving him that pitiful expression and turning his chin. “I don’t know that.”

He knew he hurt you with that. The way you flinched like he just hit you physically, it immediately woke him to his senses, unable to look away from you as he slowly approached. “Y/N, I’m sorry.”

“You don’t— you don’t get to come in here, dressed as Spider-man, bloody and bruised, acting out of your goddamn mind, kissing me and then get to doubt me,” you demanded, your eyes beginning to tear up. “You don’t get to do that Peter.”

Feeling scolded, there was nothing he could say to question that. Peter’s eyebrows lowered before he stared at the ground, sniffling and a vague pain conquering his nose.

“I’m not mad at you, Peter.” He glanced at you, his heart lurching out of his ribs. “I’m not. I… I just want to know what’s going on.”

Peter rubbed his aching lips together before he sat on your bed, elbows on his thighs as he hunched over, staring at the mask that was discarded on the floor. Brushing his fingers through his disheveled hair, he let his forehead rest against his palm as he murmured, “It’s all going to shit. Everything. I don’t… I don’t want to do this anymore,” he whispered when squeezing his eyes shut. “Everyone needs me, but I don’t… I can’t. _I_ can’t need _this_ anymore.”

You were quiet, stood up and hovering near the window, before you moved over and sat beside him. “What do you need it for?”

“Release.” Peter’s breath was slow when he finally let out that word. “Release. From guilt, from shame, from stress. All of it. I use this suit to release.” He let his hand drop between the emptiness of his legs. “It’s going too far. Mr. Stark once said if I’m nothing without the suit, I shouldn’t have it at all. I’m putting everything on the suit. It’s consuming me and I’m using it for the wrong reasons, I—”

“Peter.” You interrupted and he immediately snapped his focus onto you. Your expression turned soft, and you whispered, “Peter, New York would not be the same without Spider-man. New York wouldn’t be the same without _you.”_ You moved to brush a strand of hair away from his face, causing him to give a weak chuckle, “You’re incredible. You’re just going through a hard time, and the suit provided relief. You can’t blame yourself for being human, too.”

Peter pinched his lips together. “I fucked up tonight. I really scared people— I scared you.”

A moment of silence, your hand rubbed up and down his shoulder, and he felt a little better with the touch. “You don’t scare me,” you whispered, “no matter how hard you try.”

Gawking at you, he wasn’t even aware of how he was trying, but it seemed so painfully accurate that it made his eyes water. Peter watched you slowly make eye contact with him, shining eyes flickering to study his expression, and he immediately cupped the side of your face to engulf you in a kiss.

He liked the way you seemed flustered each time you kissed. Peter liked how your heartbeat would quicken slightly, and the way you would immediately turn your head to the right. He didn’t mind turning his to the left, he liked your quirks. Peter was moving to tower you, but you removed your lips from him and put a hand on his chest.

“No,” you said under your breath, lips swollen and cheeks dark, “no… you’re going to hurt yourself.”

Peter shook his head. “It’s okay. You need to stop worrying.”

He moved to kiss you again but you dodged. An uncontrollable whine of disappointment emerged from his throat, but you smiled at him and it immediately made him rethink what was happening. Suddenly, you were swinging your legs around his lap, straddling his thighs, and he almost spluttered in surprise.

“Just like this. No pain,” you murmured while your hands cupped his neck. Peter swallowed his pride and nodded, glancing down to see your track shorts riding up on your bare thighs. His hands moved to clutch at them tenderly before moving up to your hips.

You were sweetly kissing at his neck, and Peter gave a sigh, moving his hands under your shirt to grace them near your chest. Once your ground your pelvis against his, his entire world froze for a moment, a shaken exhale releasing from his mouth. It continued onward, repeated movements, and Peter felt the suit suddenly no longer fit him just right. It was tight, so tight, and he activated the part he specifically designed to help him use the bathroom without completely disrobing. Unzipping himself, you gave a quiet laugh against his lips, and he fluttered his eyelids open to gaze up at you.

You smiled, eyes darting down to look at him, and you inched off your shorts before pulling aside your damp underwear and sinking onto him.

It was hot, heated, but it was nothing like lust. There was lust involved, of course, but Peter didn’t do this just because of stress. He was doing it because he loved you, and the small part of him believed he could sense the love emanating off of you, too. Peter felt like crying— he had never felt so loved before.

Soft pants and guttural moans resulted from you both. Though, it was quiet, nothing too harsh or noisy. No words were necessary. His hand traveled up your back, kissing at your lips and jaw before meeting them at your neck and sucking against the skin. It was sure to bruise.

It seemed to last a lifetime, but also so fast, the moment you were chanting his name quietly into his ear. “Peter...” you sighed.

Moving up inside you, Peter murmured against your neck, hot breath giving you goosebumps as far as he could notice, “Do it.”

Your head tilted back, and he felt you tighten, and by all things holy hearing you moan his name out like that had him giving into the pleasure and finishing inside you— of course, with your encouragement. He wouldn’t do it without your permission.

With this, he held you close, arms wrapped gingerly around your waist as you both simply held each other. Peter’s head was buried in the crook of your neck, and he already missed the feeling of your body when you adjusted yourself on his lap. Eventually, he fell back onto the bed, bringing you with.

“Jeez, be careful Peter…” Your scolding was mild and he didn’t take it to heart. “Why are you grinning?”

Peter was grinning. He opened his eyes and looked at you, crawled over him. “Because I love you, and this night really happened.”

You smiled, moving your thumb against his jaw and leaning down to kiss his lips. He was eager to return the action. “I love you too,” you whispered, and his entire world was burning with happiness. “Can I see to your wounds, now?”

“It doesn’t hurt, Y/N.”

“I mean, you were kinda wincing during that whole thing—”

Peter shook his head and changed your positions, effortlessly pinning you to the bed. Your eyes were wide when gazing up at him, and he bit his bottom lip before murmuring, “Trust me, this is a much, much preferred healing process…” His hands ghosted against the inside of your thighs and your back arched slightly.

Your hands were placed on his chest and you laughed, the sound sending him into a purely euphoric state. “Alright, alright, I get it. But you’re bloody, and still in that suit.”

“You don’t like the suit?”

Suddenly, hands cupped his cheeks, and his eyebrows raised in surprise. “No. No, holy shit, the suit is fucking _hot as hell.”_ Peter felt his face burn at the comment. “But it’s damaged. And frankly, I want… I want _everything_ off of you.” His face was probably at boiling temperature. You licked your lips and he was mesmerized with the action. “Do you want to shower with me?”

“It’s like two a.m.”

“And?”

Peter laughed, remembering why he is so infatuated with you. He buried his nose near your hair and gave you a kiss on your cheek. “Mm, okay.” He moved to kiss your lips but you stopped him, placing a finger against him.

“Shower.”

After a long night of recovering the aching of Peter’s body and Peter’s yearning for you, waking up with you in his arms, it was worth everything. He loved how he could take care of you the same way you took care of him. Being Spider-man, saving the city, saving your life, it was worth it. It was worth each scar, each wound, and he will never forget the negative that brought him such a positive, lovely force in his life.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!


End file.
